


Be Of Good Heart Evermore

by janemee



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:47:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27505582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janemee/pseuds/janemee
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	Be Of Good Heart Evermore

When it first happens, it feels like a sneeze. 

Argo was running around with Carrack, the first mate’s son, playing catch with a ball of rope. They were trying to throw it as far as possible, so Argo had climbed high into the crow’s nest. 

A few things happened at once.

Graham came up from below deck, calling his son to his chores.

Argo saw him before Carrack did, and turned his head away from the game.

Carrack threw the ball, with more force than he had previously, enough that if it hit Argo it would harm him.

Then, Argo sneezed.

Well, it wasn’t a sneeze, but it felt like one, something uncontrollable, that overcomes you involuntarily. 

There was a splash of water, sending the rope ball flying overboard.

He’s stunned, for a moment, and looks up to the sky, checking for a storm. It’s blue and clear as ever. Everything feels fine?

A pair of rough hands grabbed him, Graham threw him over his shoulder as he climbed down the mast, and quickly took him below deck.

“Easy now, Argo, you’d do well to not let your mother see you just now.”

“Huh?” He suddenly landed on his cot, and resisted his first instinct to get back up, lest he annoy the first mate, “Am I sick?”

“No, boy. You’re magic.”

“Oh.” yeah, right, he knew this, he knew that his father was a genie, he should have expected this. “So what i just did, that was-”

“You just created water.”

“Oh.” He looked at his hands for a moment. “And I shouldn’t tell my mom?”

“Probably best if she didn’t know.”

“Why?” 

Graham sat with a sigh, putting his head into prayerful hands.

“The Captain loved your father. She almost lost herself when he left. I’m not saying you should hide forever, but I don’t know how she would take to you being all magic all of a sudden.”

“What do I do?”

“For now, I would practice. It hurt this time, right?”

“It felt like a sneeze.”

“Yeah, that means you’re outta control. You’ve got to learn more about yourself, what your magic means to you and the like.”

He stared. The air was swimming around him and his gills ached terribly. He felt sick, sad, tired. He was lonely, confused, and wanted something familiar.

“What was he like?”

“Your father?”

Argo nodded.

“I never met him myself, but to love your mother he would have to be a good man, and I’m sure he would love you to pieces.”

The next couple sneezes are less violent, but they still feel weird. It feels like something overtaking him, not organically within him.

When he looks in the mirror, he still thinks he looks like his mother with gills, but he looks for traces of his father, for whatever he would have left on him, given him as a parting gift.

The next time they pull into port, Graham slips him some gold pieces with a wink. Carrack buys candy, Argo buys a book about genies. He spends long nights reading by candlelight, researching, studying, practicing. 

There comes a moment, a couple months after that first time, where he gets used to it. The sneezes, well he doesn’t call them that anymore, his magic is more powerful. He can protect himself now, he is using his spells, they aren’t taking over him. He can feel them, control them, they’re a good team. He can feel himself being at home with the magic, with the genie side of him. He’s lighter on his feet and quicker to smile. He has a skill, he has power.

He spends some nights reading still, but less than he used to when he was scared. Now, he’s learning for fun, little flourishes he can add, more difficult spells. There are tons of Genasi on Nua, and he turns to other elemental authors, academic papers. He can’t help but wonder, to dream of meeting someone who’s like him, who already knows him.

One night, in his cot, head covered with a blanket, he reads a leather-bound copy of an adventure book written by an earth genasi adventurer. Xyr travels through the rough terrain of Nua, and the years that xe spent with the firbolg, it’s fascinating to him. The last chapter details xyr experience with earth genies, and some last minute dedications to other genasi as a whole:

“A small reminder to you all, some much younger than myself. Genasi almost never have contact with their elemental parents. Genies seldom have interest in their mortal offspring, seeing them as accidents. Many feel nothing for their genasi children at all. I know this news is disheartening for many of us, but the sooner you learn to live your own life, the better for you.”

It stunned him. He guesses that he was relying on, at least in some alternate reality, the theory that he could meet his father, that if he improved enough, worked hard, he could gain approval, he could make him proud, wherever he was.

That night, in his pajamas and barefoot, he sneaks to his mother’s cabin. She’s awake, of course, she always is. Fussing over some map and lazily tracing circles with a compass.

“Uh, captain?”

She looks at him with a smile that could calm a storm. “Yes, Argo?”

“Do you? Um.. is there gonna be a day where I outgrow this?”

“What do you mean?” 

“I’m scared. I feel torn between you and magic, the sea and land. I want… I want to feel at home here, and I try, but I feel strange hiding so much of myself from you. My magic is me. It’s always going to be a part of me. It’s something I’m proud of. I can’t feel like this forever, I just can’t.”

“Oh honey,” She shifts in her seat, patting the wood gently, and he sits next to her, feeling her hand on his waist and leaning into the mess of soft red curls. “I’m so sorry. I know it feels scary, and I know I haven’t done the best job of teaching you about your magic. To be honest, I can’t tell you if the feeling will pass, I still miss your father everyday. But, I can offer a piece of advice, if you want?”

He nods.   
  
“Every day, all we can do, is be of good heart. We all have different courses to sail, and storms to weather. We must face them head on, with grace. We must be of good heart, courageous, strong.”

He carries that with him. On cold days where he pulls his cloak tighter around his shoulders, he whispers “good heart” with bluish lips.

When Graham is harsh, and the Moriah feels more like an obligation than a home, he grits his teeth. 

“Good heart.”

Even after she dies, he carries it with him. Long nights alone, by a small fire, he prays.

“Good heart.”

The world is full of muck, mire, chaos. All he can do is be kind, brave, have good heart.

When he meets and falls for Fitzroy, he sees himself, the same sneezy boy overwhelmed by something he cannot control. One afternoon, as they sit together on some bench, drained from practice, the half-elf confesses.

“I’ve always known myself, I always felt so strong. What is this? What is inside of me that makes me feel like I’ll never have a home.”

“Oh honey.” He tries his best to be comforting, putting a strong arm around his shoulders, “Didn’t anyone ever tell you to be of good heart?”

It’s their thing, their catchphrase, more serious and meaningful than just 'Thundermen, LLC.' It’s encouragement, sympathy, grace, and they carry like a badge of honor. They have good hearts, they will continue to be brave, to run into danger, and to be kind.

So when Argo leaves, tears pricking in his eyes and everything condensing to a kind of dull ache, he can’t help but try one last time.

“I loved you, both of you, I gave you all I had.”

The scarred half-elf does not answer, the firbolg won’t look at him, directing his solemn gaze to the stone floor. 

“Please,” He steps towards Fitzroy, and reaches out a hand against his better judgement, lighting springs to meet his palm in the air, he steps back. “Please, I loved you.”

“Are you sure?”

“Hon-”  _ that’s not his title anymore  _ “Fitzroy, how would I not know if I loved you?”

The firbolg’s low voice makes him sick to his stomach “It felt like… you were always far away.”

“I really meant it, I tried to be here, I said it every time I felt it.” Flashes of memories, dates, whispers, long nights, he’s said the words so many times, spent days of moments confessing his love, telling them his plans for their forever, how much he wanted for their future.

“Just go.” The firbolg waves the door closed, and Argo has to shout to be heard.

“Will you at least bid me farewell?”

“Farewell.” Fitzroy is stiff, short. 

Argo sobs into a half-laugh, it’s ridiculous, but it’s all he can summon. “Good heart?”

“Yeah. Be of good heart.”

The lock clicks as the door finally closes, and Argo is alone, separated from all he wanted.


End file.
